


A Study in Stillness

by windymoors



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Banter, Communication, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, No Sex, No Smut, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Submission, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Subspace, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29820399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windymoors/pseuds/windymoors
Summary: “You can, of course,” Aziraphale said, encouragement and expectation rolled into one. “And you will.”Crowley would have liked to be exasperated at Aziraphale’s easy, confident assertions, but he couldn’t quite muster the feeling. He was too busy slipping into the narrow focus of doing what Aziraphale told him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	A Study in Stillness

**Author's Note:**

> I've been slowly writing this for well over a month now, and it is, at long last, ready to share! I hope you enjoy.

“What is this, a picnic?” Crowley asked, fumbling his hold on the fabric as it stretched from his hands to Aziraphale’s. 

“It can be if we’d like,” Aziraphale said, waiting as Crowley sorted out his end. “I believe the plan was for something a little different, however. Otherwise I would have chosen something sturdier.”

“This does seem kind of delicate,” Crowley mused, and cast a contemplative look at Aziraphale. 

They fluffed the light fabric, settling it over the foam mats that had already been spread out on the floor. Crowley held his end against the floor while Aziraphale pulled it taut. Then they both let go.

“Stay there,” Aziraphale said, standing up. 

Crowley sat back onto the ground and looked up at Aziraphale, who circled the cloth-covered mat between them and extended a hand. “Ready?”

Crowley put his hand in Aziraphale’s. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale raised his other hand, a familiar bracelet hanging from his fingers, its simple three-strand braid a counterpoint to the depth of meaning it held. “What’s our safeword?”

“Dolphin,” Crowley said. “What is it?”

“Dolphin,” Aziraphale replied, and looped the bracelet around Crowley’s wrist. When Aziraphale let go, Crowley settled both hands in his lap and looked up expectantly. His fingers unconsciously began to stroke across the strands of his bracelet. 

Aziraphale looked down affectionately. “All right, lie down on the mat.”

Crowley did. The fabric bunched slightly under him, and he wiggled a little to try to smooth out the most uncomfortable rumples. 

“Now get comfortable,” Aziraphale said. “How about...lie on your back, arms by your sides, yes, that’s it. Good. Now all you have to do is stay still.”

Crowley shifted his shoulders briefly. “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Crowley eyed him suspiciously and slid his hand a little farther from his side.

“And because of the fabric, I’ll know if you move,” Aziraphale added.

“I knew there was a catch,” Crowley said, just as Aziraphale snapped his fingers. The light, floaty fabric moved under him, smoothing back out to the taut, unmarred surface they had laid it down as. 

“It’s not a  _ catch,” _ Aziraphale said. “It’s a method of checking up on your goal.”

“What if I do move?” Crowley asked, studiously keeping his fingers from twitching.

“What do you think I should do if you move?”

“You could tie me up,” Crowley suggested.

Aziraphale dropped down to sit on the floor beside him. “I could,” he agreed. “But where is the fun in that? We know quite well that you can be still for me if I tie you up. But can you do it if I don’t?”

Crowley wanted to say  _ yes, obviously, _ but it was already taking rather a lot of concentration to not turn his head, or roll his wrist, or any one of the many other small movements he apparently did without noticing. His next reaction was to shrug, which he caught just in time, and lay there, feeling an odd mixture of tension and excitement.

Aziraphale smiled. “You can, of course,” he said, encouragement and expectation rolled into one. “And you will.”

“Okay,” Crowley said. “Is that it?”

“For now,” Aziraphale said, and stretched. “I expect it will seem like plenty, soon enough.”

Crowley would have liked to be exasperated at Aziraphale’s easy, confident assertions, but he couldn’t quite muster the feeling. He was too busy slipping into the narrow focus of doing what Aziraphale told him. If Aziraphale wanted him to lie quietly on the floor, then that’s what he would do. 

It was surprisingly hard, he found after a few minutes. His feet wanted to tap, his head wanted to turn. At the same time his whole body felt heavy, as though held in place by the knowledge of Aziraphale’s expectation. He carefully lifted a hand from the mat, wary of disturbing the cloth beneath it, and stretched it into and out of a fist.

“You’re thinking too much, love,” Aziraphale said from beside him, and hands took his, smoothed out the fingers, laid it back on the mat. “You can do this.”

“What if I mess it up?” Crowley asked, staring at the ceiling to keep himself from trying to look at Aziraphale.

“You can’t mess it up,” Aziraphale said firmly. “You can do your best, and your best is enough.”

“Okay.”

He still couldn’t relax. He had to focus on every part of his body, on keeping it still, on not getting this task wrong.

One of Aziraphale’s hands settled on his chest, the touch light and gentle. “Is this not working for you? Shall we stop?”

“No,” Crowley said stubbornly. “I can do it.”

“I know you can,” Aziraphale agreed. “But if it isn’t enjoyable, you don’t have to.”

Crowley didn’t say anything. 

Aziraphale sighed. His hand moved to Crowley’s cheek, thumb circling under Crowley’s chin, fingers brushing Crowley’s neck. “Crowley. Look at me.”

Crowley did, turning his head at last in response to the gentle pressure of Aziraphale’s fingers. Aziraphale looked serious, and determined, and so loving that it took Crowley’s breath away. 

“If you are not enjoying this,” Aziraphale said, “we will stop. I would prefer that you were the one to stop it, but I will do it if you don’t.”

“I know,” Crowley said softly. “But I  _ want _ to. I just can’t get past the details.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. His thumb almost absently caressed Crowley’s chin, and he frowned thoughtfully at the wall. “I have an idea, if you would like.”

“Obviously, ‘I’d like’,” Crowley said. 

“All right. You may move for now, sit up if you’d like, but don’t leave the mat. I’m going to go get something.”

Aziraphale waited as Crowley stretched and sat up, pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Then he squeezed Crowley’s shoulder and stood, trotting out of the room.

Crowley tipped his head from side to side, stretching his neck, and leaned back, resting his hands on the floor behind him and trying to analyze his thoughts. He wasn’t particularly anxious, which was a good sign. Just tense. That was okay. He could deal with tense. 

Or, he thought as Aziraphale came back into the room, deposited an armful of bean bags on the ground, and ran a hand through Crowley’s hair,  _ Aziraphale _ could deal with tense. Get rid of it, more like. 

Crowley turned and picked up one of the bean bags. “Okay, what’s the plan here? Juggling?”

“If you like.” Aziraphale settled back onto the floor.  _ “I _ was thinking of using these to weigh down your arms and legs so you don’t have to worry about moving them.”

Crowley rolled the bag between his hands. “Okay. Like a reminder.”

“Exactly.” Aziraphale lifted a piece of dark fabric that Crowley recognized as an eye mask. “I also wondered if this would be a good idea.”

Crowley pondered that. “I think not now. Keep it around, though.”

Aziraphale set the mask aside. “Do you have any concerns, or shall we try it?”

“Try it,” Crowley said, and put down his bean bag. 

“All right. Lie down again, then.”

Crowley did. The fabric bunched once more, and then smoothed out under Aziraphale’s miracle. A weight settled on Crowley’s left wrist as Aziraphale laid a long bean bag over it. The ends almost touched the ground, keeping the weight balanced without Crowley having to put effort into it.

Aziraphale circled him, repeating the process first with each ankle, then Crowley’s other wrist. Then he stepped back and Crowley felt the grounding weight of Aziraphale’s attention settle over him. 

Crowley let his own attention rest on the weights on his arms and legs. It was definitely easier to stay still with them, and he let the heaviness soak into him and loosen tense muscles. He didn’t have to  _ stay _ still. Only  _ be _ still, and he knew how to do that.

Aziraphale dropped to the floor beside him once more, and one of his hands settled on Crowley’s chest, pressing down firmly, evenly, joining the weight of the bean bags. For several moments they stayed like that, Crowley slowly sinking down against the floor, Aziraphale nudging him along, patient, attentive, loving.

Aziraphale lifted his hand away. “I am going to remove the weights now.”

Crowley started to shift his arms thoughtfully, and stopped. Stared at the ceiling for a moment. Made the decision. “Could I have the blindfold now?”

“Of course.” Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley saw Aziraphale moving. Then he was fitting the dark cloth over Crowley’s eyes, somehow getting it securely in place behind Crowley’s head without disturbing anything. 

Crowley blinked a few times, feeling his eyelashes brush against the fabric, then closed his eyes. 

The weight lifted off of his left wrist. Aziraphale’s footsteps passed his head, then stopped to pick up one, two, three other bean bags. Crowley wiggled his fingers carefully. Once again, there was nothing holding him in place except for Aziraphale’s request, and Crowley’s desire to do what Aziraphale said. Only now it wasn’t stressful. Just...there. He had a task, and he would do it.

He didn’t realize his foot had started to tap until Aziraphale’s hand settled on top of it, stilling the movement.

“Sorry,” he said.

Aziraphale stroked his thumb across the top of Crowley’s foot. “No apologies.”

“Unless I do something unpleasant for you,” Crowley couldn’t help adding.

“Unless that,” Aziraphale agreed. “Which is not the case here.” 

The touch disappeared. After another minute of silence, Crowley heard Aziraphale’s footsteps begin to move about the room, along with the sounds of objects being adjusted, picked up, set down. He was grateful for the blindfold. The temptation to turn his head and look might have been too strong without it.

As it was, he found himself relaxing under the knowledge that Aziraphale was finding other things to occupy his time. He wasn’t  _ ignoring _ Crowley, not really, but he did put on a good show of it. Leaving Crowley there, unwatched, knowing that the expectations he had put in place would be followed. 

It worked. It always worked. Crowley was happy to fight things when the time was right, but disobeying behind Aziraphale’s back just felt like cheating. Besides, he was very comfortable now, his consciousness giving up on trying to stay still and slipping into the mode where he could just...do what he was told, and trust that it would turn out well. 

His thumb ran across his fingers, restlessly. He made it stop.

It was dark under the blindfold. He liked it that way, even if it did mean he was focusing all the more closely on the unusual stillness of his body. 

He’d never realized how hard it was to stay still. Aziraphale had asked it of him before, but always in combination with something else. Never this pure stillness, where he could do nothing but focus on it.

His legs wanted to move, to twist and bend. His fingers wanted to twitch, grasp the fabric under them. He breathed in slowly through his nose and kept himself still.

He heard Aziraphale beside him again, low to the ground as though he was sitting down. He wanted to reach out and touch Aziraphale, feel that contact, break through the bubble of concentration and sensation that was settling ever lower and tighter around him. But he couldn’t reach out, that would mean moving, and Aziraphale didn’t seem to be coming closer.

“Aziraphale,” he said, and there was the edge of a whimper there. “Could you touch me?”

A rustle of clothes as Aziraphale moved, and then a hand settled on Crowley’s cheek. “Of course. Always, love.”

Crowley closed his eyes again behind the blindfold and leaned his head into Aziraphale’s hand.  _ Always. _ Aziraphale never withheld touch, not when Crowley asked for it. It wasn’t one of Crowley’s limits — he had said he’d be willing to try it if it fit with one of their plans — but one of Aziraphale’s.  _ I never, ever want you to feel alone when we’re doing this, _ he had said.  _ If you need a reminder that I am here, you have only to ask. _

So Crowley asked.

Aziraphale’s thumb stroked along Crowley’s jaw and settled on the corner of his mouth. “You’re doing very well, you know.”

“‘M trying,” Crowley said quietly.

“You are,” Aziraphale agreed. “And you’re succeeding so beautifully. Do you know what a gift it is, having you here like this?”

Crowley, since he currently couldn’t shrug like he wanted to, stayed silent.

“What I’m saying is, you are lovely,” Aziraphale said. His hand left Crowley’s face and his voice turned slightly brisker. “Now, stay just like this. I can tell you’re getting it.”

Crowley’s eyes opened again and he stared into the blackness. “Stay for how long?”

“Does it matter?”

Crowley inhaled. “No.”

Aziraphale’s voice was soft, but determined. “I am going to take the blindfold off now. I expect you can manage the rest of the time without it.”

Crowley knew that Aziraphale would leave the blindfold on if he asked. 

He didn’t ask. The cloth shifted and light shone back into his eyes.

“Close your eyes,” Aziraphale said. “Good. Keep them that way until I tell you to open them.”

Crowley tried to avert the trembling that seemed to want to start in all his muscles at once. They ached, almost, an insubstantial pain born of nothing, of doing nothing for too long.

“How long since we started?” he asked. The stabbing overwhelm of the sudden brightness was fading behind his closed eyelids.

“Does  _ that _ matter?”

Crowley swallowed. “Yes.” 

“It’s been just under an hour.”

Crowley closed his eyes tighter for a moment. “And I have to stay longer?” The tremble that he kept out of his body seemed to have taken up residence in his voice. “I can’t, Aziraphale.”

“You can,” Aziraphale assured him. “You may open your eyes now, if you’d like.”

Crowley did, closed them again against the brightness, opened them again, stared at the ceiling. His arms begged to be turned over, bent, stretched. “I  _ can’t.” _

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice had an edge to it. “Is that how you speak about your abilities?”

Crowley’s voice sounded small to his own ears. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.” Aziraphale sounded mollified. “You can, and you will. You know how to tell me if it’s too much. Show me you know.”

Crowley focused on a spot on the ceiling and relaxed his shoulders. “Name of a big grey water mammal — not a whale — to stop. Tell you I need a break if I need a break.”

“Do you need to tell me either of those things right now?” Aziraphale’s voice was steely, but Crowley knew that if the answer was  _ yes _ he would drop it in an instant.

“No,” Crowley said. He didn’t want to stop. Didn’t  _ need _ to stop. This was hard, very hard, but that was  _ good. _ He needed the challenge, needed the discomfort, the knowledge that he could half-fall-apart because of circumstances beyond his control but be safe the whole time, because the person in charge of it all was Aziraphale, and Aziraphale would never truly hurt him. Aziraphale would never do anything that wasn’t, at base, something Crowley wanted.

And in the absolute worst-case scenario, if Aziraphale misjudged, or Crowley’s mind took a turn neither of them predicted, Crowley would use his safeword, wrest back control of the situation, and it would all stop, and Aziraphale would take care of him.

No. Crowley didn’t need to stop.

Aziraphale’s hand settled on his wrist, where the bracelet lay. It felt tough and unyielding, pressed between them like that. Crowley closed his eyes and let out a breath. Inhaled. Exhaled again. Reached out somewhere in his mind and found...the quiet place.

It felt as though his awareness had split between his body, with its quiet, ever-present ache, and something else, outside of everything, where he was calm and comfortable and at peace. He liked it that way. There was something in that peace that was normally unattainable, a total absence of concern. A simplicity of thought. There was discomfort in his body, yes, but it was beyond his control. He couldn’t just give in and stretch, because Aziraphale wanted him to be still.

There was no choice to be made, and that was utterly freeing. 

A hand stroked hair off his ear, smoothing the strands down with a subtle gentleness that somehow spoke of more love than any word. Crowley breathed out under it, hearing that love like a bell ringing all around him.

The hand left his hair, and Crowley was alone in space again, nothing to touch but the ground beneath him. But that was okay too. Even now, as his awareness narrowed to include little save sensation, he knew that somewhere right outside, Aziraphale was there.

“Open your eyes, Crowley,” said Aziraphale’s voice, confirming that which Crowley had known to be true.

He opened his eyes. 

“Good job.” Aziraphale’s voice was confident, and warm, and caring. “Keep them open. I don’t want you falling asleep just now.”

“‘’M not falling asleep,” Crowley defended himself.

“You aren’t. But don’t go starting.”

“Not sleepy,” Crowley said. The words felt almost heavy, complicated to bring together properly. “Jus’ floaty.”

“That is entirely acceptable,” Aziraphale said.

It was a little harder to stay in that comfortable, hazy place with his eyes open. The physical sensations wanted to take over, occupy the most space in his mind again. He fixed his eyes on the ceiling and tuned his ears to the sounds around him. There was very little to be heard. Only the normal sounds of the building working around him, and faint noise from the street.

“Aziraphale?” he asked, knowing Aziraphale wouldn’t have left, wanting the confirmation all the same.

“I’m here,” Aziraphale reassured. 

There was the sound of a page turning.

Crowley’s eyes closed for a few seconds before he remembered to open them. He would like to sleep, he mused, but not here. Not when they were still in the middle of a scene, and not without a good stretch first.

Another page turned, not loudly, but with a sort of deliberate noise. Crowley wondered if Aziraphale was even looking at his book. Then he wished he hadn’t, because now he wanted to turn his head to see.

He fixed his eyes more firmly on the ceiling.

Another page turned.

Crowley relaxed back into the floor and drifted some more.

He came back out of the clouds to the knowledge that his left leg had started to cramp. He flexed the muscles there, and the cramp faded. Still...

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” he said.

There was the sound of quiet movement, and then Aziraphale was beside him. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Crowley grinned, somewhat loopily, at the ceiling.

“And,” Aziraphale mused, settling a hand on Crowley’s knee, “much as I like seeing how far I can push you, I think that means it’s a good time to stop.” 

Crowley stayed very still, waiting.

“You may move now,” Aziraphale said. “But you don’t  _ have _ to. Take your time.”

His hands settled on Crowley’s arm, massaging gently from shoulder to wrist before taking Crowley’s hand lightly in his. Crowley turned his head at last and blinked slowly at Aziraphale’s face.

Aziraphale moved on to one of Crowley’s legs and Crowley wiggled his toes experimentally, turning his neck from side to side. It was stiff, but not unpleasantly so. Just enough to add to the feeling of coming out of a daze. He stretched, arms and legs making their capabilities known.

When Aziraphale had gone over both of Crowley’s arms and legs, he pressed gently on Crowley’s shoulders, then withdrew, sitting on the floor near Crowley’s head and beginning to run his fingers gently through Crowley’s hair.

“Can I close my eyes now?” Crowley asked.

“Yes.” Aziraphale gently worked out a knot. “You may do what you want. You’ve done so very well.”

Crowley let his eyes close with a small sigh. “What I want is to not have to think much for a while yet.”

“That can be arranged.” Aziraphale’s thumb ran across his forehead. “You want to just curl up and let me hold you and pet your hair and tell you what a good job you did for me?”

Crowley shivered slightly and opened his eyes, moving one arm up to lie across his body. It ached comfortably, the long stillness making the movement all the sweeter. “Something like that.” 

Aziraphale slid his arms under Crowley and lifted him off the ground, one arm supporting his upper back, the other behind his knees. “I think we’ll go over here, then, my dear,” he said, setting Crowley gently on the bed and climbing after him. In his hand, trailing over Crowley’s legs, came the fabric Crowley had been lying on.

“What are you doing with that now?” Crowley asked, blinking comfortably up from his nest of quilts and pillows.

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale said, settling in beside him. “It’s very soft.”

“Mm,” Crowley agreed. “You could tie me up with it.”

“You seem quite hung up on that idea,” Aziraphale commented, and thoughtfully twisted the cloth into a narrow cord.

Crowley hummed and curled up more firmly against Aziraphale’s side. “Weren’t you going to hold me and pet my hair?”

Aziraphale looked down at him with affectionate exasperation. “I was, but then you distracted me with other ideas.”

“I am bereft,” Crowley declared, gazing woefully up at the ceiling. “Forgotten in the face of new ideas, alone and-”

“Oh, hush, you!” Aziraphale interrupted, and twisted one hand into Crowley’s hair, the other grasping his wrist and pinning it to his chest. “Does this seem like ‘alone and forgotten’ to you?”

Crowley inhaled sharply and  _ hmm _ ed a negative.

“Good,” Aziraphale said, and released his grip. Crowley exhaled and sank back into the bed. Aziraphale obligingly began to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair. 

“Could still tie me up,” Crowley said after a minute. 

“Or we could save it for another day.”

“Could just tie me up a  _ little,” _ Crowley countered. 

“Well, if you put it that way,” Aziraphale said, and looped the cloth around Crowley’s wrist, fashioning it into a loose cuff. Crowley grinned.

Aziraphale wound the other end around his own hand and placed it firmly on the bed. “Are you happy now?”

It was phrased as a rhetorical question, something teasing and maybe even faux-exasperated, but Crowley knew that a part of Aziraphale was truly asking. So he nodded. 

Then, for good measure, he said, “Bent an angel to my will yet again.”

“I’m fairly certain you’re the one tied up in the lair of the enemy,” Aziraphale pointed out, and began once again to comb his fingers through Crowley’s hair. 

“Mm,” Crowley agreed. “Got me, he has. I’m very stuck over here.”

“I’m sure he’ll do his very best to take care of you,” Aziraphale said, still petting. 

“Definitely,” Crowley said, because he had exactly zero doubts about that fact. 

Aziraphale ran a hand down to his shoulder and squeezed. Then he unwound the fabric from his hand and tied it loosely to the headboard. 

“Is this too tight?” he asked. “I don’t want to restrain you right now. You were very still for a long time.”

Crowley tested it. He  _ could _ make it pull tight, if he stretched his arm far out, but he had to really try. Besides, it was nice to have the option.

“Not too tight,” he said. 

“Good.” Aziraphale picked up Crowley’s free arm and began to massage it again. Then he cycled through the rest of Crowley’s limbs, finally telling him to turn over before rubbing his back. 

“You don’t have to move if you don’t want,” Aziraphale said as he worked, “but I do want to wake your muscles up a bit.”

Crowley, whose brain was feeling decidedly un-woken-up by the firm, comfortable touches, made a noise that he hoped conveyed a proper understanding of the matter at hand. Judging by the way Aziraphale laughed and ruffled his hair, Crowley thought he might have missed the mark and landed somewhat closer to “completely melted”. He couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Aziraphale’s hands left Crowley’s back, only to reappear a moment later on his wrist, untying the impromptu fabric cuff. Crowley sighed a little, but didn’t protest. 

The bed shook as Aziraphale settled himself down and gathered Crowley into his lap. Crowley went willingly, tucking one arm close to his chest and throwing the other across Aziraphale’s waist. Aziraphale’s hands wandered seemingly at random, smoothing Crowley’s hair, running over his shoulder, settling briefly on his waist, and mostly just making it clear that he loved Crowley so very much. 

“You were wonderful today,” Aziraphale murmured, tucking Crowley’s hair behind his ear and laying his hand lightly on the side of Crowley’s head. “So good for me.”

Crowley hummed, pleased. He had a difficult relationship with the descriptor “good”, but had decided over time that being  _ good for Aziraphale _ was acceptable. Aziraphale deserved things that were good for him, and anyways, Crowley quite liked this version of goodness. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully. “You did an excellent job.”

“Could say the same about you,” Crowley said, giving Aziraphale a smile that he knew was sappy, but was too comfortable and safe to care. 

Aziraphale squeezed him gently. “I’m very glad.”

They sat there, quiet, enjoying the company, the closeness to one another. After a minute Aziraphale started to hum, a simple melody that was like many things, but not exactly like any. 

Finally Crowley stretched, legs falling to the bed, and held the hand with his bracelet out between them. Aziraphale reached over and unclasped it, setting the bracelet aside and cupping his hand briefly around the spot where it was before laying Crowley’s hand down. Crowley rolled out of Aziraphale’s lap and sat up, tossing one leg over Aziraphale’s shins. 

“Thanks,” he said. “Good stuff, today. I liked the bean bags.”

“So did I,” Aziraphale said, holding out a glass of water. “Something to keep in mind as its own idea?”

Crowley took the water and sipped thoughtfully. “Yeah. I think we could figure out something good.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Anything else?”

Crowley sighed and shuffled backwards, settling against the pillows next to Aziraphale. “It took longer to settle than I expected,” he said, obligingly snuggling closer when Aziraphale put an arm around him. “But I think some of that was just where I was today.”

“That’s all right,” Aziraphale said. “You got there.”

“I did,” Crowley agreed. “And once I did, it was fun. Do you have anything?”

“I don’t like when you get stressed,” Aziraphale said. “But that wasn’t your fault, and you listened and considered the options I gave, and then we fixed it.”

Crowley nodded.

“It was good,” Aziraphale finished. “You were good. I would label tonight a success.”

“Oh, definitely,” Crowley said. “A very success-y success.”

Aziraphale pressed a kiss to his hair. “I’m glad.”

After a few minutes of quiet, Aziraphale took out a book. Crowley considered sleeping, but instead he just stayed where he was, half-reading over Aziraphale’s shoulder and eventually meandering off to the kitchen, where he ended up making tea for both of them and returned just in time to watch the sunrise glowing through the window as they drank it.

Then he did nap, because there was something rebellious and demonic about staying up all night only to sleep as soon as daytime arrived. Aziraphale smiled and patted Crowley’s hand absently when he shared that particular thought, which Crowley chose to interpret as agreement.

It was an excellent nap.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always make me happy, if you have anything to say, and either way, thank you for reading!


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